


a soul for sale or rent

by salazarsslytherin



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Early Days, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Protective Brian, hooker freddie, i'm sorry there's not much deaky in this, i'm tagging for that because of the prostitution but it's mostly off-screen and nothing explicit, pre-fame, protective roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: “I’m calling from Kensington police station,” the woman tells him.  “I have a Frederick Bulsara in custody, he’s nominated you to be his point of contact.  May I put him through?”They need money to make a demo.





	a soul for sale or rent

At first none of them think to question where Freddie gets the money from.

They make up the rest by selling the van but it’s a lot of cash he hands over so they can record this demo.A lot more than he usually has—most weeks Freddie can barely make rent and he’s been wearing the same beat-up pair of shoes for as long as any of them have known him.He scrapes by with what little he and Roger make at the market stall but the money for the studio time is...it’s _questionable_.Where the hell did he get it from?

Brian thinks about it one day and can’t stop wondering, watching Freddie while they’re recording and when they’re at home.Nothing has changed, really.Freddie still doesn’t buy food, just steals a slice of bread from one of the others every now and then, and he’s got the same clothes he’s always had. 

But then they over-run in the studio and there’s a sudden panic, trying to club together whatever they can to pay for the final few sessions.They don’t need long but the demo isn’t _perfect_ yet and it needs to be.

Freddie’s just as stressed as any of them though he’s better at hiding it, insisting that everything will be fine, confident in their future as superstars.He’s out a lot more than usual, disappearing in the evenings with a vague, ‘I’m off out’ and not a word as to where he’s going, but he’s always back come morning. 

He looks tired but he throws himself into the recording and when the time comes to pay up the extra cash, Freddie comes through.He has it, all of it. 

Brian catches Roger frowning at Freddie, eyes following the envelope, now empty of cash, that he balls up and throws in the vicinity of the rubbish bin. 

“Where the hell’d you get all that money, Fred?” Roger asks in amazement.

Freddie shrugs.  “Oh, this and that,” he says vaguely.  “I’ve been saving up for a little while, darling.  Just in case, you know.”  

Which they know isn’t true at all because Freddie doesn’t _have_ money and he can’t save it to save his life.He spends, spends, spends.

Roger shoots Brian a _look_ and Brian just shrugs at him; Freddie’s good at keeping secrets, they won’t get anything out of him unless he decides to tell them so there’s no point in prying. 

Which isn’t to say the matter’s forgotten.

A week later, the demo’s _nearly_ done but Freddie isn’t quite happy with the vocals on one of the songs and Brian wants to re-do one of his solos.They just need a little more time, maybe another two days in the studio, but it’s more money they don’t have.

“Look, I think it sounds great the way it is,” John says diplomatically.  They’re all crowded around the same corner-back table in the pub down the street after using up their very last studio hours.  “We should just go with it.”

“ _No_ ,” Freddie says.“It’s got to be _perfect_.We don’t need much more time, only a couple of days.We’ll manage it.”

“Fred, we don’t have any _money_ ,” Roger says, exasperated.“We’re going to have to just take it as it is.”

“They’re right, Freddie,” Brian sighs.  He hates to admit it, because he wants it to be perfect too, but it’s just not going to happen.

“They’re _not_ ,” Freddie snaps, standing up and slapping his hand down on the table.“I’ll sort it out, okay?Don’t fret, my dears.This is going to be _it_ , this is the last time we’ll ever be slogging it.Once this demo is out there, we’re going to be superstars.That’s why it has to be perfect.”

John makes a face.“We can’t _afford_ it,” he presses.“And we don’t have anything left to sell, unless you think we should sell our bloody instruments.”

“Of course not!” Freddie says.“Don’t worry about it, I’ll sort it.We’ll be back in the studio before you know it and we’ll get it right this time.”He drains the last of his drink and sets the glass down a little harder than necessary.“I have to love you and leave you, I’m meeting someone tonight.See you in the morning!”

He’s gone before anyone can say anything else and the others exchange a silent look over their half-finished beers.  

"Who the hell is he meeting?" Deaky asks.

“Dunno.  He’s never going to get enough money together,” Roger says, shaking his head.  “Even if we sold everything we have in stock for the stall it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s because everything you have on that stall is a load of junk,” Brian says, rolling his eyes.

“Junk people _buy_ ,” Roger replies, unoffended.  

Brian’s of the opinion that if anyone is stupid enough to buy the rubbish Freddie and Roger try to sell them, they deserve to be done out of their money, so he doesn’t argue any further.“He got the money before,” he says instead.

“Yeah but _how_?” John asks.“Do you think he borrowed it from his parents?”

Brian shakes his head.  “Not in a million years.”

“Maybe he borrowed it from a friend, then?”

“Nobody we know has enough money to lend someone like Freddie that much cash,” Roger says, shaking his head.“Do you think he’s got another job somewhere?He’s always out at night, maybe he’s picked up some shifts in a bar or something?”

Brian frowns.  “If he has then why doesn’t he just _say_?”  It doesn’t feel right.  

“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” John suggests.  

“Why would he be embarrassed?”Brian taps his finger on the edge of his glass, staring down at the table.Something about it isn’t right but damned if he can think of what.Freddie _must_ have picked up another job somewhere but why won’t he just tell them?He sighs.“I’ve been thinking about trying to see if I could get my old teaching job back,” he says after a moment. 

Roger’s already shaking his head.“Then you won’t have _any_ time to rehearse with us!Freddie’ll go mad.”

“Freddie’s _going_ to go mad trying to get all this bloody money by himself,” Brian returns.“What else can we do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Roger says bracingly.“Freddie came through before, I’m sure he will again.”

“But _how_?” John says. 

“I don’t know.Maybe he’s selling drugs or something,” Roger says jokingly.

Brian immediately presses a hand to his chest.“Oh, God, don’t say that.”He’s sure Freddie wouldn’t, he doesn’t touch drugs, but the thought of him getting involved in that sort of thing gives Brian a stomach ache. 

“I’m kidding,” Roger says quickly.“You know he wouldn’t.”He finishes his beer and looks longingly at the bar for a moment.“I suppose if we’re saving money we shouldn’t buy any more drinks,” he says mournfully.

“There are a few beers at home,” Brian says, finishing off his own glass.  “You coming back with us, John?”

“May as well,” John agrees.Maybe if they think about it enough they can all come up with a money-making scheme that actually works.

He really, really hopes this demo does something for them.  Not because he particularly cares about getting famous from Queen, but because Freddie wants it so badly, has put so much into it, that John thinks it might destroy him otherwise.

 

 

***

 

 

They’re all asleep by the time Freddie creeps back into the flat at nearly five in the morning, cash wadded in his fist.He carefully conceals it in his currently empty nook, under the cupboard with the cleaning supplies where nobody ever goes, and heads into the bathroom to scrub his mouth out with Brian’s toothpaste.

He spits into the sink and doesn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror before padding down the hall to finally get into bed. 

 

 

*** 

 

 

He’s up four hours later, packing jackets into boxes for he and Roger to take down to the market.

As soon as they get there, Freddie leaves Roger in charge of opening up and goes off in search of coffee.Thankfully they know the people down the street who sell hot drinks and pastries and they _love_ Freddie so they’re always happy to provide him with free tea or coffee whenever he stops by for a chat. 

He gets a cup each for himself and Roger, grabs a handful of sugar packets and bids his goodbyes before meandering back along the street.He likes the market—loves it, in fact—but he’s growing more and more worried as the weeks slide by that he’s going to end up here for the rest of his life.Some of the people running the stalls he passes are easily in their fifties and sixties, selling the same wares they’ve probably been selling since they left school.

Freddie doesn’t want to be like them.  He’s _not_ like them; he’s supposed to be bigger than this, his life isn’t _meant_ for this.  But he doesn’t know how to fucking get _out_.  They _need_ to get this demo sorted.  He can feel it in his heart, as soon as they have their demo they’re going to be fine, it’ll all work out for them from there and it’ll all have been worth it.  

“You alright, Freddie?” Roger asks, peering at him over the rim of his coffee cup when Freddie arrives back and hands it over.“You look tired.What time did you get in last night?Where did you even _go_ , anyway?”

“Oh, not too late,” Freddie says, waving a hand.“I thought you’d all still be up, to be honest.”He didn’t, but he’s good at distracting Roger like this.“Didn’t you stay at the pub?”

“Nah,” Roger says.  “Saving money, aren’t we?  Went back to the flat in the end, had a few beers.  Deaky stayed round but he left early this morning, think he’s got a date or something this afternoon.  He wouldn’t tell me her name though.”

Freddie snorts.“He’s probably afraid to find out you’ve already slept with her, darling,” he says, re-adjusting a few of the scarves on display.

“I haven’t slept with _every_ bloody woman in London!” Roger protests, before smirking.“ _Yet_.”

Freddie laughs and tries to whip him with a scarf while Roger shrieks and knocks over a hatstand trying to get out of the way. 

A customer arrives not long after and Roger doesn’t ask Freddie any more questions after that.

 

 

***

 

 

Freddie would never say he _enjoys_ it, because he doesn’t, but there is a certain satisfaction that comes of it.He likes to know that he’s desired, that people _want_ him, that men will pay him money to have him.He’s good.He learns, quickly, how to be good.How to use his tongue and his hands and his voice in just the right way.

He learns the best bars to scout out, the people who’ll come back for more, the men who have a little more cash in their pockets and don’t mind parting with it.  The ones who are happy to have him in a bathroom stall or the back of their car; Freddie isn’t stupid, he doesn’t go home with any of them.  He doesn’t let them _take_ him anywhere.  

He won’t let them kiss him on the mouth, either.  He makes that rule for himself, to keep it separate.  Seperate from _what_ , he doesn’t know.  It’s not like there’s someone waiting for him back home who wants his kisses.  But it makes him feel better somehow, to have his little rule.  Like he’s still above it, still in control.  One of them yanks his hair until tears spring to his eyes and another is so rough Freddie can’t bear to sit down the next day, but at least he never let them kiss him.  It’s meaningless, without that; he still has control over it.  It’s just sex.  It doesn’t matter.  

_Think of the demo, think of the album.Think of Queen._

He can’t stand to look at himself in the mirror, these days, but it doesn’t matter.It’s going to be worth it in the end.

 

 

***

 

 

“Should we wake him?” Roger asks a few days later, looking down at where Freddie’s curled up on the ugly sofa in their flat, completely dead to the world.They’re meant to be going to see some friends of theirs play a gig at a local pub tonight and they need to leave, well, now, but Freddie’s been fast asleep for the past two hours. 

“I don’t know,” Brian replies, peering over Roger’s shoulder.“He’s been looking really tired lately.Maybe we should let him sleep.”

“We’re gonna miss the gig.”

“You go on ahead,” Brian says, settling himself in one of the nearby, mismatched armchairs.There are cigarette burns in the arms and the stuffing leaks everywhere but it’s still surprisingly comfortable.“If he doesn’t wake up in the next half an hour, I’ll wake him and we’ll meet you there.”

Thirty minutes come and go, though, then an hour and Brian hasn’t the heart to wake him.He really has been looking exhausted lately, even though they’ve barely been in the studio at all, unable to afford the fees to go in and put the finishing touches on the demo.Freddie’s been out all hours of the night, leaving in the early evening while they’re all still sitting around chatting or jamming in the living room and not returning until the early hours.He tries to be quiet when he comes in but Freddie’s not so subtle and Brian’s a light sleeper anyway. 

Freddie doesn’t ever stumble around like he’s drunk, just makes his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth before heading to bed, but something’s not _right_.If he’s not staying out all night drinking then what the hell is he doing?

Every day the rings around his eyes seem to grow darker, and Freddie’s manic determination that they’re going to get the demo finished grows stronger. 

He stirs while Brian’s watching him, almost startling his silent, worried guardian, who’s lost all track of time. 

Brian blinks himself back to reality as Freddie’s blinking himself awake, sitting abruptly and staring around.

“What time is it?” Freddie asks quickly, surging upright and putting anxious hands into his hair to try and flatten it down.

Brian checks his watch.“Just after ten.”

Freddie relaxes at that and flops back down on the sofa with a weary sigh, rubbing his hands over his face as he tries and fails to stifle a yawn.

“Fred…” Brian says quietly.  He pauses for a moment, just watching him worriedly as Freddie blinks expectantly at him.  “What’s going on with you?”

Freddie’s face shutters at once.“Whatever do you mean, darling?”

“You’re tired all the time, you’re out all hours of the night, you never talk to us any more,” Brian reels off.“ _Talk_ to me, Freddie, what’s going on?Is it about the money?The demo?It sounds great, we—”

“It’s not _perfect_ ,” Freddie interrupts, which tells Brian it is indeed what they’d all already guessed: the damn demo.  

“Freddie, at some point we have to say enough is enough,” Brian groans.  “You’ve got a job somewhere, haven’t you?  You don’t have to do this all by yourself—”

“ _Brian_ ,” Freddie cuts him off.  “I know what I’m doing.”

“ _Do you_?” Brian demands, a little more roughly than he’d intended.  

Freddie scowls and gets back up and Brian knows immediately that he’s just lost this opportunity to try and get through to him.  

“Fred,” he tries again, more gently, but Freddie’s already waving him off, fussing with his shirt, smoothing it out.

“I’m fine, Brian,” Freddie says shortly.“I have to go, I’m going to be late.”

He flounces out without another word, leaving Brian to stare after him.

“Late for what?” he calls out, but Freddie doesn’t reply. 

 

 

***

 

 

Brian finds out a week later.

It’s the early hours of the morning, just gone three, when the phone rings and startles Brian from sleep.It takes him a moment to register what woke him and by the time it does Roger’s door’s opened and he can be heard picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”  He sounds groggy even through the wall and Brian starts getting out of bed, stifling a yawn.  

“Who— _what_?  What’s happened?”  Roger’s voice has instantly taken on a panicked note and Brian’s out of the room in a flash, standing in the hallway and staring questioningly at Roger, who’s gone pale with the receiver pressed tight against his face. 

When he notices Brian his eyes go wide.“Hang on,” he says into the phone.“Brian’s here now.”He holds the receiver out and his hand is shaking.“It’s the police,” he hisses, and the bottom drops out of Brian’s world.

He clenches an iron fist around his thoughts, pleading with them not to spiral downward as he reaches out to take the phone and put it to his own ear.His heart is thudding so heavily in his chest it’s making him feel ill. _What if, what if, what if_.

He barely registers what the woman on the other end of the phone is saying.“What?Yes, yes I’m Brian May,” he confirms quickly.His voice is breathy and unsteady and he swallows hard, trying to fix it.A few of their other housemates have crept out of their various rooms, peering into the hallway to watch with morbid interest.Brian turns away from their curious eyes and shares a worried look with Roger. 

“I’m calling from Kensington police station,” the woman tells him.“I have a Frederick Bulsara in custody, he’s nominated you to be his point of contact.May I put him through?”

Brian has to lean on the wall behind him and he nods.“Yes, put him through.”

The woman disappears and the phone beeps for a few seconds.Brian glances over at Roger.“It’s Freddie,” he says lowly.“He’s been arrested.”

Roger claps a hand over his mouth and shifts closer to try and listen as the phone call finally patches through.

“ _Brian_?”Freddie’s voice is shaking worse than Brian’s had, thick and croaky with tears.

“Yeah it’s me, Fred,” Brian tells him quickly.“Are you okay?What’s happened?”

Freddie doesn’t reply for a moment and all Brian can hear is the sound of him valiantly trying not to cry.  “I’m okay,” he says eventually.  “They’re...they’ve said they won’t ch-charge me.”  He has to pause again, sniffing hard and swallowing back new tears.  “I’m being cautioned.  And they’re giving me a f-f-fine.”  His voice goes on the last word, dissolves into hyperventilated hiccoughs.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Fred,” Brian breathes.Fuck knows how they’re going to afford that.“Okay, don’t worry—try and calm down.We’ll sort it, okay?” Somehow.

Roger’s desperately mouthing at him, ‘ _What’s happened_?’ but Brian shakes his head, focusing on Freddie, who’s managed to control his breathing some.

“Can you come and pick me up?” he whispers.“ _Please_ , Brian, I—”

“Of course,” Brian says at once.“Of course I will, I’ll be there as soon as I can.Kensington?”

“Yes,” Freddie says quietly.  “There’s...there’s money under the sink.  Bring it with you so I can pay the fine.  And _please_ hurry, Bri.”

He clicks off before Brian can say anything else and Brian sets the phone back in its cradle.  “He’s okay,” he tells Roger quickly.  “They’re letting him go.”

“What did he _do_?” Roger asks in amazement.

“I don’t know.”  Brian shakes his head and walks back down the hallway, where everyone else is quietly melting away upon hearing that Freddie’s apparently fine and correctly sensing that Brian isn’t about to share any more detail than that.  Roger follows him along to the kitchen and once they’re alone Brian turns to him.  “He sounded really shaken but they’re not charging him, he said.  Just giving him a caution.  And a fine.”

Roger winces.“We don’t have any money.”

“Well,” Brian says grimly, and kneels down to get to the cupboard under the sink.It takes a few seconds of rooting around, pushing aside bottles and buckets but eventually his fingers close on an envelope that doesn’t belong amongst the bleach and sponges they house in there.He pulls it out and opens the flap, gasping softly when he sees the amount of cash inside.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Roger lets out, dropping to crouch beside Brian.“How long have you had that?”

“It’s not mine,” Brian says, thumbing through.There must be three hundred pounds in there, at least.“It’s Freddie’s.”

They exchange a silent look and Brian rolls his lips between his teeth, biting down.He re-seals the envelope and straightens up.“Can you tell Chris I’m borrowing the car?I’m going to get him.”

Roger nods and gets up as well.“Do you want me to come with you?”

Brian shakes his head.He feels an odd sense of fierce protectiveness all of a sudden, knowing Freddie called _him_.Roger’s exactly what Freddie will need later, when he wants to regale the story back to someone, when he’s ready for it to be just that—a story.But tonight he’s shaken and scared and sat in a police station somewhere and Brian is the best of them at dealing with that sort of Freddie.Quiet Freddie, shy Freddie, petrified-in-an-elevator Freddie. 

Brian runs back to his room to drag on some jeans and a coat before grabbing the keys and making a beeline to the car.It’s freezing cold outside, his breath mists in the air, and the car sputters a few times before the engine finally turns over.

He turns the heaters up on full even though they’re only blasting cold air for the moment, hoping that by the time he gets Freddie they’ll have warmed the car up a bit. 

Thankfully, even in London, middle of the night traffic isn’t too much of a battle and Brian can drive through the streets without having to stop too much but he’s still jittery in his seat every time a light turns red and makes him wait.Every minute delayed is another minute that Freddie spends alone in that police station and Brian can’t bear the thought.

He’s pretty sure he parks illegally when he finally pulls up outside, abandoning the car on a curb and jogging up to the front doors because he can’t waste more time driving around looking for a bloody space. 

Brian goes straight for the front desk but he stops dead when he comes in view of the corridor beyond because there, head down and handcuffed to a bench, is Freddie.He hasn’t noticed Brian and doesn’t look up, just continues to stare forlornly at the floor.He’s entirely still, which doesn’t suit him at all, and he looks smaller than ever all of a sudden, feet tucked neatly under the bench, thin wrists weighed down by heavy handcuffs.

Brian stares at him so long the officer at the front desk pointedly clears his throat and Brian starts.

Freddie looks up.

“ _Brian_ ,” he says hoarsely, staring at him like he’s a wonder, and he goes to stand up before the chain looped into the bench stops him short.“You came.”

“Of course I did,” Brian says quickly, and he goes to take a step forward but the officer at the desk stands and puts a hand out. 

“Hold on a minute there, son,” he says quickly.  “There’s some paperwork to fill out first.”

Brian rolls his eyes at Freddie, who manages a weak smile in response, and regretfully turns away to walk up to the desk.  “Do I need to sign something?” he asks, watching as the man pulls out several sheafs of paper.

“You need to sign this, this, and this,” he says, sliding the sheets over.“And this, which confirms the fine will be paid within twenty eight days, or Frederick will be taken to county court.”

Brian glances over the top sheet.Freddie owes the borough of Kensington £250.“I have the money here, can I just pay it now?” Brian asks, pulling the envelope out.

“Yeah, hold on, there’s a different form for that.”The man heaves himself out of his chair and goes rooting around for whatever bureaucratic nonsense he needs and Brian looks at the next bit of paper, skimming over the writing, then doing a double take when he actually takes it in.

Public indecency. _Freddie_?

Brian turns to look at Freddie over his shoulder and catches Freddie watching him worriedly, shrinking back and flicking his gaze elsewhere when he realises Brian’s looking his way.

He won’t look back at him no matter how pointedly Brian tries to catch his eye so Brian turns back to the paperwork, staring at those words again.

He’s not an idiot; he can put two and two together.The cash, the late nights.The fucking _arrest_. 

The officer sees what Brian’s looking at and taps the phrase that’s written there in bold, black, undeniable ink.“He’s lucky not to be charged,” the man mutters.“He’s young.Naive, maybe.You make sure to tell him he needs to keep that sort of thing to himself, in private.It’ll be a prison sentence if he’s caught again.”

Brian frowns at the officer, horrified.“ _Prison_?” he repeats.His heart seizes just thinking about it; Freddie would never cope in prison, and they wouldn’t cope without him.

The officer leans in.“He was with a _man_ ,” he says lowly.

Which...Brian had sort of known about Freddie, really, but he’d hoped Freddie might mention it himself. _This_ isn’t how he’d ever wanted that confirmation and if the shame he can practically _feel_ radiating from the bench behind him is anything to go by, Freddie didn’t either.

He swallows and just nods, because there doesn’t seem to be much else he can do.No wonder the fine’s so steep.

“He wasn’t booked for that,” the man carries on, still keeping his voice low so Freddie won’t hear.“Kept the details out.Like I said...he’s young, right?”

Brian nods again.Freddie isn’t so young, really—he’s older than Brian, just turned twenty four—he just always seems younger, somehow.But whatever this man and anyone else want to think that’ll get Freddie off the hook, Brian’s happy to agree with all of it just so long as he walks out of here with Freddie under his arm, safe and well and not in those fucking handcuffs.

“So make sure he’s more careful,” the officer says, sliding the new papers he’s found toward Brian to sign.“If the wrong person sees that sort of thing…”He shakes his head.“Getting arrested’d be the least of his troubles, if you know what I mean.”

Brian does.Being seen out with a man in public is a quick way to get your head kicked in.He numbly signs the papers, one after the other, and hands over nearly all of the cash Freddie had squirreled away inside his worn envelope.

And then, finally, he gets Freddie back.

Freddie is silent as they uncuff him, quietly rubbing at the irritated skin where the metal had chafed.  His fingertips are covered in smudged black ink and he won’t meet Brian’s gaze.  

Brian wants to yank him in, hug him so tightly neither of them can breathe, and make sure Freddie knows, really, truly fucking _understands_ , that he’s safe now, but he can’t.Not here.Not with people watching.Not with Freddie’s record only shakily clean as it stands.

“Let’s go home, Fred,” Brian says gently, and shrugs out of his coat to wrap it around Freddie’s shoulders.He’s dressed in the tightest jeans Brian’s ever seen him in, both knees filthy, and a mesh vest that can’t have afforded him any protection from the cold at all—Brian can see his bloody nipples through it.

Freddie tugs the coat closely around himself and Brian hopes it feels something like the comfort he aches to offer him as they walk out of the police station in silence. 

They get in the car, heaters on full blast, and pull away without a backward glance.

For a long, long time neither of them speak.Brian just drives. 

He doesn’t take them back to the flat, isn’t really sure where he’s going; they just go, idly, unthinkingly, wherever the roads take them.  They cross the Thames and quietly let drunken pedestrians cross at walkways and don’t so much as look at each other until they’re passing through Twickenham and Brian glances across and realises that Freddie’s crying.  Silent, awful tears that catch the passing light of street-lamps and he still hasn’t said a _word_ and Brian can’t take it any longer.  

“Oh, Freddie,” he breathes.He clicks the hazard lights on and swerves onto the side of the road, killing the engine and hauling Freddie into him in a tight, tight hug. 

Freddie sobs out loud, then, his face buried in Brian’s neck, and awkwardly clings to him across the handbrake and cupholders.

“You’re alright, Fred,” Brian says soothingly, rubbing his hand over Freddie’s back.“Come on, you’re alright now.It’s all sorted.You’re okay now, sweetheart.”The endearment slips out unthinkingly but Freddie doesn’t seem to notice, just focused on controlling his breathing, and Brian continues to murmur to him until his shoulders have stopped shaking. 

“That money was meant to be for the demo,” Freddie mumbles eventually, and dips his head back into Brian’s shoulder again as another sob wells up in his chest.

“The demo’s _fine_ , Freddie, God.”  Brian has to take a moment to steel himself for whatever the response to this is.  He doesn’t want to know but oh, God, he needs to.  “ _Please_ tell me you haven’t been doing what I think you’ve been doing.”

Freddie swallows hard, the click of his throat audible.“We needed the money,” he whispers. 

“Oh, _Freddie_ ,” Brian moans, clutching him tighter.  The stupid, _stupid_ little fool.  

“I _had_ to, Brian!” Freddie tells him desperately, fist bunched into the back of Brian’s shirt.“Or we’d never finish the demo, and the band would fall apart.You’d go off and be a teacher again and Rog would get a job with his degree, Deaky would go back home and I’d go _nowhere_ , and you’d all find someone better to sing for you, but we can _make_ it, I _know_ we can, I’ll get better, we just need to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brian talks over him, alarmed and broken-hearted to hear the words that suddenly come pouring out of Freddie.“Okay, calm down, Fred,” he says first, because Freddie’s working himself back to tears and because he has no fucking idea what to say.“We _all_ want Queen to work out, alright?”They’ve already given up so much just to get to where they are, none of them are ready to call it quits yet, they can all feel that there’s _something_ here that’s going to make it work.

“I know,” Freddie croaks, “but I want it to work with _me_.You were doing so well with Tim, but now I’ve joined…”

He can’t finish it and Brian hugs him tighter, feeling his own throat ache painfully with the sudden threat of tears.“Oh Christ, Freddie, I had no idea you were worried about that.We’d never replace you, it’s _so_ much better with you, writing our own stuff.Tim didn’t want to stay with us, Smile _wasn’t_ working.”It had seemed like it, on the surface, but it had all fallen apart in the end.It feels different now, more solid, especially since John joined them.There’s something, some spark in the four of them, that just _works_.

Freddie’s shaking his head into Brian’s shoulder.  “But we can’t _get_ anywhere, so I thought, if we just had this demo—I _know_ once we have it things are going to work out for us.  We just have to hold on.”

“I know that too, Freddie,” Brian tells him.“I think we all do.”He gives him one last squeeze before pulling away so he can look Freddie in the eye and make sure he’s really listening because he needs to hear this.“But you shouldn’t have done this, Fred.We’d _never_ expect you to do...something like _that_ , none of us want you to—”

Freddie’s eyes are wide and frightened.“You won’t kick me out, will you? _Please_ , Brian, I was only trying to help the band—”

“ _Freddie_ ,” Brian cuts him off.“Listen to me, please.”He pauses a moment to make sure Freddie really is listening, sternly holding his gaze.“No matter how badly you think we needed the money, you shouldn’t have done this.You could have gone to _jail_ , Freddie.”It shakes him to think of that, Brian already knows he’s going to struggle sleeping for the next few weeks worrying about what-ifs, dreaming about that phone call going very differently, about seeing Freddie being led off in handcuffs and then never getting to see him again.“You’re lucky the police officer liked you.You _know_ it’s illegal to be out with a man like that, if they knew you were doing it for _money_ they’d have given you a _prison sentence_.” 

“But—”

“I’m still talking,” Brian says firmly.“I want you to hear this, Fred.It’s not fair on you to do that to yourself, for us.We’re not worth that.But Freddie...it’s not fair on _us_ to buy our demo time like that.Do you understand what I’m saying?I am _not_ okay with our band working out off the back of you selling yourself for some cash so we could record a few songs.”

Freddie’s eyes well with tears again.  “I was trying to help,” he says pleadingly.

“I know you were, Fred, that’s what makes it _worse_ ,” Brian says.“I know you wanted to help.It breaks my fucking heart that this is what you thought you needed to do.”

“I can’t _do_ anything else!” Freddie snaps tearfully.

“You don’t have to do anything!” Brian shoots back.“We’ll work it out. _We_.As in, the four of us.How much of that demo money before came from this?Tell me honestly.”

Freddie looks away and Brian feels ill.“All of it,” he surmises grimly.“Fucking hell, Freddie.”

Freddie ducks his head and untangles himself from Brian to wipe the coat sleeve over his face, though it doesn’t help as more tears spill out moments later.

“I was only trying to help,” he says again, quietly, and Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“We’re not using that demo,” he says after a moment.

Freddie draws in a sharp breath.“Brian, we _need_ that demo, _please_ don’t be like that about this—”

“Be like _what_?” Brian demands.  “Did you think I’d be _happy_ to find out you’ve been fucking random men so we could get a record deal?”

“It wasn’t _like_ that, I never had sex with any of them!” Freddie cries. 

“You just blew them instead, is that it?” Brian shoots back, and is quietly horrified when Freddie’s face confirms that yes, that’s exactly what he did.“Fucking _hell_ , Fred.How would you feel if John did that?Thought he needed to sleep with some studio producer so we could get some time in?”

“I’d _hate_ it,” Freddie says at once, still tearful.“That’s different.”

“It’s NOT,” Brian says, so loud Freddie winces.“It’s no different.Imagine if Roger went and stood on a street corner, found some guy to pay him for head so we could record a demo.Or if Deaky—”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Freddie sniffs desperately.He can’t hear that, he doesn’t ever want to think about Roger or Deaky doing this; they’re the young ones, they have to look out for them.“It’s not the same.”

“It _is_ the same,” Brian says darkly.“And you’ve made us all complicit, without ever asking.”

“If I told you about it, you’d have stopped me.”

“And didn’t that give you some idea that maybe you shouldn’t fucking _do it_?” Brian snaps at him.He’s got no idea where this sudden anger has come from, it’s like his worry and upset has crystallised into this instead and Brian hates to raise his voice at Freddie but anger is the only thing that ever gets him to fucking _listen_.“Can you even imagine us, Fred?In ten years time, biggest band in the world, all the while knowing that we only got there because you—”

Brian abruptly cuts himself off, his mind rearing away from thinking about it too deeply, from vocalising exactly what he means.What he knows is true.The shadows of the thoughts cling to the edges of his mind, though—Freddie in some dark alleyway, Freddie on his knees, Freddie tucking a twenty pound note into his pocket and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“I won’t go into a recording studio knowing that’s what got us there, Fred,” Brian says after a long moment.“I can’t stand it.”

“Because of me, you mean?” Freddie asks, and his voice is so fucking small all of a sudden.“Because it was with a man?”

Brian stares at him.  “What?  No, Freddie!  I already _knew_ you—it’s not because of that,” he says firmly.  “It’s because...because…”  He doesn’t know how to organise any of his thoughts so they make sense to himself, let alone someone else.  “It should be _precious_ , Freddie.  It should be good.  With someone you love, or at least someone you like, someone you actually _want_ to shag.  Not for _money_.  Not for _us_.”

“That doesn’t matter to me as much as this band!” Freddie insists.“This is _everything_ to me, Brian, you don’t understand.I _have_ to make it work, I don’t care about anything else.”

“You _should_.You should care about your _self_ , Fred.God, I fucking _wish_ you cared about yourself even half as much as I care about you.”Brian would never have let Freddie do this had he known.He’d never have let him think that Queen would ever move on without him, that they could ever find anyone better, that this demo is their one and only chance.“We’re not using that demo.”Brian isn’t touching it, he won’t let Freddie’s sacrifice be what gets them their shot or Freddie will think it was worth it, he’ll think that was okay.He might do it again.

“So you’re just going to _waste_ it?” Freddie asks, a petulant note creeping into his voice.

“You don’t think paying all that money to a police officer to get you off the hook isn’t wasting it?” Brian shoots back.“Was it worth it, Fred?All those late nights, all this—you think that was worth it?”

“If it got us to where we need to be then _yes_ ,” Freddie says.  “I don’t _mind_ , Bri.”

“ _I_ mind!” Brian shouts.“ _I_ mind, Freddie!Roger will mind, John will mind!That’s _our_ demo, it’s not just—”

“Are you going to tell them?” Freddie interrupts nervously.

Brian stops his tirade before it can really get going, deflates all of a sudden.“I don’t know.”He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse if they know.“Roger already knows you were arrested, he picked up the phone.”

Freddie stares down at his hands, tangling his fingers together.“Don’t tell John, _please_.I don’t want him to think less of me.”

Brian wasn’t really inclined to tell John, as it happened.He’s so young, he doesn’t need to know about it.“He’ll wonder why we’re not using the demo.”Because no matter how much Freddie fights and argues, Brian isn’t going to be swayed on that; their band is _not_ making its way to the top by trampling all over their lead singer.

“We can make something up,” Freddie acquiesces.“Just don’t tell him, Brian, please.”

Brian tiredly runs his hands over his face.“I won’t tell John,” he says.“He doesn’t need to know.But I think you should tell Roger.”

Freddie shrinks back in his seat.“Can’t you tell him?” he pleads.“If you think he really needs to know.”

“I _do_ think he needs to know,” Brian replies, “and no I won’t be the one to tell him.You can tell him yourself, I’m sure he’s up waiting for you, worried sick.”

“He’ll think less of me,” Freddie whispers.

“No he won’t.”Brian isn’t entirely sure _how_ Roger will react, but he knows that much.

“You do,” Freddie says, small again, and Brian feels a horrible wave of guilt.

“God, Freddie, no,” Brian says quickly.“Of course I don’t, how could you…”He doesn’t finish that because he knows exactly how Freddie could think it; he’s just spent ten minutes telling him off.“Come here,” he says instead, pulling him in again.

Freddie doesn’t resist, lets himself be tugged against Brian’s chest and tucks himself closely into him, as well as he can in the awkward confines of the car. 

“I don’t think any less of you,” he says firmly, rubbing one hand over Freddie’s back.  “Not at _all_ , Freddie, okay?  I just _hate_ that you did that for us.  I hate that I didn’t notice so I could tell you not to do it.  God, fuck, Freddie, what if someone had hurt you?”  Brian can hardly bear to even think about that; bad enough thinking about Freddie out with strange men who don’t care about him beyond the fact that he’s a warm mouth, what if one of them had taken offence at something or other and hurt him?  What if some homophobic asshole had seen and dragged him into an alley and beaten the shit out of him?  It’s not unheard of, it happens all the time in the dodgier parts of London.

Brian’s stomach hurts and he squeezes Freddie so tightly for a moment that he’s sure Freddie will complain, but he only squeezes Brian back. 

“You mean the world to us, Fred,” Brian tells him, finally pulling away.“I wish you’d understand that. _That’s_ why I think you should tell Roger.So he can tell you that, too.And tell you what an _idiot_ you are for going out and doing this for something as stupid as a demo tape.”

“It would’ve been a great demo,” Freddie mumbles.

“It’s not worth anything to me if it made you feel worthless.”  Brian would rather watch the band crash and burn than let Freddie believe that for a moment longer.  “We’ll make a better demo, with money from all of us.”

Freddie sniffs.  “That’ll take _ages_.”

“So what?  We’ll keep at it.  And the longer it takes, the better we’ll get.”  Brian starts the engine but he doesn’t drive just yet.  “I don’t _ever_ want to get a phone call like that again, okay?”

Freddie nods.“Trust me, darling, I don’t ever want to have to call you like that again.”

“I’m serious, Fred,” Brian says.“I swear I’ll help you out if you’re ever in trouble, you know I will.But _please_ don’t do this again.It’s so risky.I’m not going to be able to sleep at night wondering what you’re up to.”

“I won’t do it anymore, Bri,” Freddie says, looking over to meet Brian’s eyes.  “Promise.”

Brian nods and accepts that.  He’ll still be up all night worrying about Freddie for the next who-knows-how-long, but that can’t be helped.  

For now, at least, he’s safe and well as can be expected, and Brian just takes him home.

 

 

***

 

 

He was right about Roger; when they pull up outside the light in the living room is still on and his shadow appears at the window the moment he hears the car.

“Oh, Christ,” Freddie mutters, seeing him.“Brian, I really don’t think—”

“He’s not going to let you rest until you tell him,” Brian cuts him off.“You know he won’t.And if he does, he’ll only ask me and I’m not going to lie to him.It’s better that it comes from you.”

Freddie hunches his shoulders inside Brian’s coat, not making a move to get out of the car even after the engine’s cut.He doesn’t move until Brian’s out of the car, door slammed shut, when he really doesn’t have another choice unless he wants to be locked in the damn thing all night.

He slides out with his head down and reluctantly follows Brian inside, relieved to see that at least it’s only Roger waiting for him and not a whole host of the comers and goers who seem to live in their flat with him.

“Freddie!” Roger lets out as soon as he sees him, dragging him inside and throwing his arms around him.“What the fuck happened?Brian said you were _arrested_?”He lets go and steps back, assessing him with a searching gaze. 

“I’ll go and make some tea, shall I?” Brian asks, squeezing Freddie’s shoulder for a moment before leaving the two of them alone. 

“Freddie,” Roger says lowly, suspicious now.“What did you do?”

Freddie opens his mouth but no words come out.  How the fuck is he meant to explain this?  He wishes Brian would just do it for him; he doesn’t care how badly this whole story makes him come across, he’d take anything over having to be the one to face Roger and tell him himself.

“Did you hurt someone?”

“No!” Freddie says quickly, offended that Roger would even think that.  “Of course not.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing like that.I was...I’ve been trying to make some extra cash,” he starts, refusing to look Roger in the eye, keeping his head down.He sidles past him into the living room, putting a bit of distance between them.

“Did you steal something?” Roger asks.He sounds relieved by the thought and Freddie wishes it was as simple as that.

He shakes his head.“No I...I was selling something.

“Drugs?”

“No!  Christ, Rog!”

“ _Tell_ me, then!”

Panic flares in him.  “I was selling...it was just...I don’t know how to explain, darling!”

“Just tell me!” Roger bursts out.  “What the hell were you selling?  Was it my stuff, is that why you’re worried?”

“Of course not!”Freddie’s not sure which is worse; stealing something from one of his dearest friends and flogging it for some extra cash, or the truth.“I was selling...well, sex, basically.”It comes out bluntly, more bluntly than he was intending, and Roger just stands there for a moment.

“Sorry, what?”

Brian reappears in the doorway, three cups in hand that he sets down without a word.

“Sex,” Freddie repeats.

Roger’s still struggling to process.“Sorry,” he says, and it’s his cutting, gearing up for a fight sort of tone.“Hold on.You were selling _what_?How do you...how do you _sell_ sex?”

Freddie shrugs.  “Well it’s quite simple, really, darling,” he says, defensively flippant.  “You have sex with people and they give you money for it.”

Roger turns white.  His breath rushes out of him all in one go and he just stands and blinks for a good few seconds.  

Brian swings around to stare at Freddie.  “You said you didn’t have sex with any of them,” he says.

“I lied,” Freddie admits miserably, still not looking at either of them.“You were already so mad, darling, I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Brian quickly sits down on the nearest armchair and tries desperately hard not to _think_.He feels so fucking ill at the thought of Freddie being used that way, selling himself that way, for _them_.

“You...you’ve been... _prostituting_ yourself?” Roger manages to get out.

Freddie flinches at the word but it’s the truth, he can’t deny it.

“For...oh my God, Freddie.Tell me it wasn’t for the studio time.”Roger’s eyes are wide and a bit wild.

Freddie can’t tell him what he wants to hear.

“All those late nights,” Roger realises.“You’ve barely fucking been here the past few weeks.All that fucking _cash_ you had.And...under the sink—”Roger makes an aborted half-turn toward the kitchen as he remembers.“What that from…?”

Freddie nods silently. 

“What the _fuck_ , Fred?”

“We needed to make the demo!”

Roger kicks the coffee table, making tea slosh over the edges of the cups Brian’s just brought in.“Fuck the demo!What the fuck were you _thinking_?You could have been _killed_ , don’t you read the fucking _news_?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Freddie tries, but Roger grabs the nearest thing, which fortunately happens to only be a sofa cushion, and throws it.It should be ridiculous, the soft flop of it against the wall, but his anger is enough that Freddie doesn’t feel even remotely like laughing.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Roger repeats hotly.  “Don’t be so _fucking_ dramatic!  Am I being dramatic here, Bri?”  He whirls around to face him.  “I suppose we’d have just laughed it off had some fucking copper showed up here to tell us Freddie was dead, wouldn’t we?  Just being dramatic, aren’t we?  _Fuck you_ , Fred,” Roger spits, turning back to him.  “Don’t you fucking call me dramatic.  How _stupid_ can you get?”

“Roger…” Brian says lowly, but there’s no calming him when he’s in a mood like this, it’s best to just let it run its course. 

“I’m not touching that demo tape any more,” Roger says violently. 

“I know,” Freddie says quietly.“Brian already said he won’t use it.”

“Good.I’m not using something you bought like _that_.Fuck, Freddie, we’d have gotten the money eventually! _Christ_ , what were you _thinking_?” he says again.He finds a nearby book and throws that, which makes a much more satisfying noise as it slaps against the wall and Brian tries not to be too obvious about looking over to make sure it wasn’t one of his textbooks.

“I was thinking about the _band_!” Freddie retorts.He’s sick to death of having this argument, he’s just gone through it with Brian, he doesn’t want to relive the whole thing with Roger too.“I’m sorry I’ve _debased_ myself and you think I’m scum now or something, but—”

Roger actually rushes right at him, grabs his flimsy mesh shirt and gives him a shake.“Don’t you give me that, you little prick,” he snarls.“You _know_ that’s not why I’m angry.I couldn’t give a fuck if you want to have sex with everyone in London, but don’t do it so you can give _us_ money.”

Freddie doesn’t try to finish his argument, which he’d known wouldn’t fly even before he opened his mouth. 

Roger keeps hold of him for a moment, staring him in the face before he shakes his head and grasps the back of Freddie’s neck in one hand, pulling his forehead into his.“You fucking idiot,” he says lowly, sighing.“God, I love you, Fred, but you’re a pain in my ass sometimes.You have no idea how _worried_ I’ve been, sat here waiting for you.”

He pulls back and gives Freddie a gentle shove so he sits down in the armchair behind him.  “You,” Roger says imperiously, pointing at him, “are never going out on your own again.  You wanna stay out late, fine, but me or Bri are going to be right there with you.”

“Roger—”

“ _Don’t_ argue,” Roger cuts him off, glaring.“You agree, Brian?”

“Absolutely,” Brian replies from behind him.

Freddie huffs.  “You don’t need to _babysit_ me.”

“Apparently we _do_ ,” Roger shoots back.He rubs his hand over his face, looking exhausted all of a sudden.“Are you okay though?” he asks after a long moment.His eyes are frank and direct when he drops his hand and looks at Freddie and Freddie feels, quite suddenly, every second of the evening weighing on him like a physical thing.

He nods slowly.  “I’m not hurt or anything.”

“Yeah, that’s not what I asked,” Roger replies, not about to be fobbed off.

Freddie gives a helpless shrug, staring down into his lap.  He doesn’t know if he is, in all honesty.  Tonight has been the scariest thing that’s ever happened to him and he can’t quite process that he’s now sat at home, safe and warm and surrounded by his friends.  There had been a long time tonight when he’d thought he might never have this again, when he’d thought that he was going to be sent to prison and even the thought of that grips him with such sheer terror he feels sick.  Even without Brian and Roger’s reactions, no way Freddie would _ever_ have done something like it again, not after this.

His fingers are still covered in ink and he feels tearful again all of a sudden, seeing them.  “I’m really tired,” he says quietly.  “I just want to go to sleep.”  He hasn’t slept properly in weeks.  

“Bed, then,” Roger says decisively.  He tugs Freddie up and gives him a gentle push toward the door.  “Just so you know, I’m not done telling you off for this,” he adds to Freddie, “but I’m tired too.  I want to go to sleep.  You’re still in so much fucking trouble.”

 “I know,” Freddie says.  

That’s okay.It’s nice to know they care about him.He always finds himself doubting it in his dark moments, and tonight has been one long dark moment since the second the police officer had walked into the alleyway and found him, hauled him to his feet and slapped him in handcuffs.

He can see it all again so clearly the moment he’s in bed, eyes closed.  Freddie can almost feel the handcuffs back around his wrists, can hear the mindless drone and chatter of the station around him.  He tries not to but when he pulls his mind away from it, it only lands somewhere worse; the hard pavement beneath his knees, a rough hand in his hair, a stranger’s—

Freddie rolls out of bed without thinking about it and pads down the hallway to knock gently on Brian’s door.

“Come in, Fred,” he calls quietly. 

Freddie opens the door a crack and peers through, opening it properly when he sees Brian sat up, watching him expectantly.He pats the bed beside him and Freddie sags with relief, closing the door behind him and making his way over.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Freddie asks.They’ve done this before, if either of them is having a bad night, or sometimes just when they’ve had too much to drink or there are a few too many people staying in the house and another bed was needed, but Freddie’s not sure how things might be different, now.

“Of course I don’t,” Brian tells him, leaning out of bed to pull him in, shifting over so there’s enough room for him.“It’s warmer with you here, anyway.”

Freddie snuggles down beneath Brian’s blankets, burrowing in and relaxing, finally, for the first time in hours. 

Brian clicks off his lamp and lies down with him, close enough to smell Freddie’s minty toothpaste. 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Freddie whispers after a long moment.  He’d felt lost in that police station, helpless and petrified but there hadn’t been even a second where he’d ever considered turning to anyone else.  “What would I do without you, Brian May?”

He means it as a rhetorical question, really, but Brian puts an arm over him and pulls him close. 

“You’ll never have to find out,” Brian promises quietly, and Freddie thinks he feels a soft kiss on the top of his head, but he might already be dreaming.

 

 

 

 


End file.
